6
Delilah was glad to finally find some peace. The three days after the encounter with the Prince were a whirlwind of activities planned by Cecilia's new found friends. Delilah was already losing count of how many events they had graced. Even her evening walks would have to be cut short because she had 'another' dinner to attend to. Part of her was miffed at having to socialize every moment of her stay; her face was starting to hurt from all the smiling, but most of her was glad Cecilia was finding such success. Cecilia could smile through every catty barb sent her way and find something of common interest even amongst the dullest of company so it wasn't surprising she was becoming popular.
Delilah had found her own little intimate group of acquaintances which she joined when in a larger gathering. Some of them were young debutants lost in the crowd of people unable to etch their own identity. They were being led by poor guardians who would either set them loose without a word of proper guidance or mollycoddle them until they were ready to break under the pressure. Delilah found herself taking these young women under her wing and was glad to find herself be a source of comfort for them.
As Delilah realized that the sun was ready to disappear beneath the mountain range she closed her eyes. It would be a beautiful sight but even thinking about it pained her. Her memories linked to this particular sunset were vile enough to make her completely despise the beauty.
Sunsets made her think of rejection and the Prince who was the source of it. She hadn't seen him since the day they met in the rose garden and she was glad. His actions towards her seemed friendly but she could not shake the feeling that he was probably mocking her in his head. She was even more confused about what the Prince recalled about her. Did he even remember her? He hadn't as yet hinted at past events and yet he had followed her around with such persistence that she wondered.
Delilah had made the decision long ago that regardless of how the Prince behaved with her she would feign complete ignorance about their past. Any taunts he might potentially send would be discarded instantly. She had planned to meet the Prince as one might a complete stranger and Delilah was pleased she had met her goal with success. At least he would never feel she was 'retrying her luck' with him.
"My Lady, walkin' with ones eyes open ain't not as overrated as you seem to think," An amused voice reached her and Delilah opened her eyes. She felt herself grow warm as she realized not only had she had been walking with her eyes closed but someone had caught her at it.
She looked down and saw the source of the voice.
Sitting on one of the architectural rocks in the garden was a wizened old man. He was wearing a beige coloured, loose, knee length shirt over black breeches; the typical outfit worn by the gardeners.
"Not fond of plant life, eh?" The man gave her a toothy grin.
Delilah was horrified to be accused of being a plant hater.
"Of course not, Sir," She spoke hurriedly.
"Sir," The man's eyebrows rose in surprise, "I ain't worthy of being called Sir by a high born, noble Lady like yerself. Call me Jeeves," The man continued before Delilah could tell him otherwise. "Just messing wit yeh before, I've seen yeh around the gardens, my Lady. Yeh're the las' person I'd accuse of hatin' my garden."
Delilah beamed at him. She noticed she had reached an unexplored part of the gardens that was definitely not green lawns. The soil was uneven and brown, prepared for cultivation. She could see some of the plants were already peaking out in the March weather.
"Is this from where the castle kitchens receive their produce?" Delilah spoke as she eyed the vegetables patch carefully.
"Aye, all ye 'erbs and wines and the food stuff. Right under my feet yeh can see Belladonna and White sage."
"I didn't know the plant life would be so diverse in the Palace. I always associated the gardens with flowers and beautiful hedges. I never thought the Palace would keep such amenities close by. I am rather surprised I hadn't noticed this area before."
"We is so far 'way from teh capital, Miss and teh Palace's like a city itself. We need all sorts of supplies. Do yeh know how much these Nobles eat?"
"I know," Delilah giggled as she remembered the over laden plates and pulverized roasts at the last grand dinner hosting by the Prince.
"An' teh medicines too need to be kept close by wit what's happen' to teh King and all," The man muttered sadly.
"The King?" Delilah asked curiously.
Jeeves' eyes grew round and he instantly covered up what he'd said, "He's only a bit under teh weather. So I've 'eard."
Delilah was still curious but she silently prayed for the King's recovery. The man was much loved and like most of the Kingdom would not wish him ill.
"Darling, petulance of this sort will ruin your boyish good looks," The Queen fussed over her only son.
"Boyish good looks, Mother! I'm seven and twenty; I don't need boyish good looks. Besides, I am as far away from petulance as I could possibly be," Damian looked at himself in the mirror as his mother tried to tuck his wayward strands behind his ear. He was wearing a blue cloak once again because his mother thought it brought out the colour of his eyes.
"You have spent a few days brooding over something so don't expect me to believe that you shan't start pouting as soon as you leave this room."
"Mother," Damian whined, exasperated, "I don't think I have pouted since I was five. That ruthless tutor you first assigned to me took care of that."
His mother completely ignored him.
"I know there is something on your mind, just say it before you burst into a tantrum in the middle of the evening dances," His mother was now busy flattening imaginary creases in his knotted shirt.
Damian looked heaven-wards silently hoping his mother would let him go. His valet had readied him eons ago but his mother was convinced he needed her stamp of approval before he could be let out into the public. Damian let her take such liberties with him because he knew she was happy. His father had woken up under the new healer's care and the Royal family was filled with hope again. His uncle had even set about treating the staff with a generous bonus in his happiness.
"It's a girl," Damian bit out when his mother nearly choked him as she tightened the knots around his collar.
His mother's eyebrows rose as she heard the words but stayed silent.
"She puzzles me," He spoke quietly; "Makes me angry."
Damian's mother was a fount of infinite knowledge and wisdom. She seemed to have the answer to every one of his queries but this time instead of giving him advice as she would always do she patted him on the shoulder and turned him in the direction of the door.
"Have you looked at the time? You shall be more than fashionably late if you keep dawdling like this."
"Dawdling?" Damian felt upset at being interrupted. His mother was never this insensitive and besides he wasn't even the one dawdling in the first place.
He looked at his mother curiously but she looked away unable to meet his eyes, "I promised myself three years ago that I would never interfere in your business especially when it concerns the matters of your heart."
"Mother," All the hurt the Crown Prince felt resonated in that one word but she ignored his plea.
"Have a good time and try not to trip any more girls," The Queen dismissed her son and closed the door.
The Prince stalked into East Ballroom with anger clouding his head and fogging his judgment. Damian was feeling incredibly agitated and the cause of all the unrest were the women in his life. His mother refused to forgive him; completely unknown plebeian girls refused to look at him; he felt like he had lost without ever being in a fight. His mother's words continued to circle in his head and they further soured his mood.
Various nobles and their ladies barely jumped out of his path as he nearly trampled them away. Behind the Prince were his two personal man servants, Jerald and Baker, who added to the imposing entourage. He saw a few society climbers gesture towards him but he ignored their attempts. He was in a ferocious mood and it would only grow worse at the mere thought of socializing with his oily guests. The Prince's cloak glided behind him in a fashion that unbeknownst to him was avidly being observed by the younger men in the room. The Prince was considered the pinnacle of high fashion amongst his circle and many were eager to imitate his style.
Prince Damian was near his throne when a servant carrying a tray of fine alcohol nearly collided into him. Instead of taking his anger out on the quivering man he swiped a glass from the tray and downed the liquid in one go. He placed the empty glass back in the tray and picked up a new, full one.
Damian then continued on his path to the throne almost as if he had never paused.
Many of the nobles familiar with the Prince and his ways gaped at his odd behaviour. Once the prince was settled on the throne he gestured to his musicians to begin the dances and many people soon forgot him but a few keenly continued to observe the Prince and whisper into their neighbour's ears looking utterly scandalized.
"Bored stiff already, Damian?" A soft lilting whisper came from his left that pulled his attention from the swirling dancers His mood was so cloudy that no one had dared to approach him at his throne; not even the overzealous mothers trying to get him to notice their daughters. For the first time that evening he smiled; He recognized the voice.
"Beatrix, what brings you here?" Damian eyed the pretty figure of the woman not hiding his admiration. She was a light haired woman with olive coloured eyes. She had a softly angular face that turned heads where ever she went. She looked completely fetching in her gold coloured gown. Damian was disappointed to remember the woman in front of him was already married.
The Lady in question sighed, "An enthusiastic mother in law and a mouse-like sister in law are what brought me here."
"Pity, at least you didn't force this drama upon yourself. I think I am on the verge of flying off from one of my balconies."
Damian was suddenly reminded of a certain dark haired girl and he gulped down his third drink. Beatrix handed him his fourth from the table continently placed on the side of his dais.
"Theatrical as ever, Damian; you haven't changed," Beatrix laughed gently; her soft appearance and manner hiding the diamond sharp mind and wit hidden underneath.
"I haven't, although I am looking to be married," Damian muttered his word slightly slurred.
"Yes, I remember the young man who didn't want to be married at all," Beatrix replied, an undercurrent of disdain in the way she spoke.
"I remember a young girl who shared that young man's thoughts," Damian searched her eyes, "She never wanted to get married either."
"She was just a girl. Girls don't have the privilege of waiting," Beatrix looked towards the crowd.
"Would you have waited if I asked you to?" Damian posed the question he had always wanted to ask emboldened by his drunkenness.
"Forget the past, Damian," Beatrix drawled slowly, killing the route the conversation was taking.
Damian snorted at her tone but his attention was instantly diverted when he noticed a tall red head traverse the crowd. He knew where he would find one girl the other would also be there. Beatrix followed his gaze and noticed him eyeing the red head.
"She is pretty," Beatrix muttered trying to sound unaffected though her voice said otherwise. Damian barely noticed as he scanned the room trying to look for the red head's companion. His eyes narrowed as he found her leaning against a pillar in a dark corner.
"You must excuse me, Bea, I need to socialize with some of my guests," Damian barely looked at his old friend as he got up from his seat and a little more ungracefully than usual stomped towards the crowd.
He pushed past a few people he caught unaware but was not stopped for his rudeness when they realized who it was. He nearly tripped over a noble's long cloak as he reached his destination but the pillar supported his weight. The girl leaning against it was jostled out of her thoughts.
"How rude of you to not enjoy the festivities I so carefully planned for today," Damian spoke to her as a greeting. The girl was stunned at his manner of address but chose to remain civil and bowed in front of him.
"Have you danced as yet, girl," he watched her face come closer to his vision and then move away in a particularly vexing fashion. He soon realized this was caused by his own swaying.
"N- no," she stuttered looking frightened by his behaviour. Damian smiled at her viciously. At least he had her complete attention. The girl scrunched her nose as he leaned in closer.
"You are drunk, your Highness," Her voice contained a note of surprise as if she had only just noticed the fact.
"Very astute, smart, brilliant, amazing of you to notice," He rambled, "Yet not smart enough to get a dance. Or not pretty enough, eh?" He tapped her chin with his finger as if to make a point.
He smirked down at her maliciously. She was hurt, he could tell from her eyes but he couldn't care less. Her eyes were on his and that was all that mattered.
"Your Highness, I- I think it's best if I leave," Her head bobbed in a half hearted bow but before she could turn away he grabbed hold of her arm.
"I never said you could go. You cannot leave the Ball without at least one dance," He tugged her in what he assumed was towards the dance floor but he found the trembling girl was suddenly standing her ground.
There were tears sparkling in her eyes but her gaze was fierce.
"Let Me Go!" She uttered defiantly. Damian knew only he could hear her because she was so quiet but the words hit him far more than they would have if she had screamed them. He let go of her arm instantly. "Did you honestly think that I would ever let you publically humiliate me ever again, Prince," She hissed at him in the low volume.
Damian was confused but before he could say anything she walked away.
